My Sister's Keeper
by Solange Malfoy
Summary: AU. Melinda Bobbin, the charming heiress in the Slug Club, was born a twin and raised an only child. Part of an experiment to determine the affect of genes on personality, she would never be told the truth...until the Triwizard Tournament [On Hiatus].
1. My Sister's Keeper

**My Sister's Keeper: A Story of the Triwizard Tournament**

Summary: AU. Born identical twins, Melinda Bobbin and Belinda Angyal were raised apart and as only children. Part of an experiment to determine the roles of genetics and environment on personality, they were separated in infancy and raised by families of different backgrounds and social standings. Students at, respectively, Hogwarts and Durmstrang, they would neither meet nor know of each other's existence…until the day they arrived in France to compete in the Triwizard Tournament.

_Prologue: My Sister's Keeper_

_It has been years since the second Triwizard Tournament of the revival, postponed two years because of the aftermath of the Second War but held to show the world that we had been neither beaten nor broken, was played, but I still dream of it, sometimes. The warmth of France still seeps into my bones on these cold mornings we have, the ice statues of the Beauxbatons Yule Ball still glitter in memory, and the screams of the crowd still echo. I recall the face of Auguste, the Beauxbatons champion, as it looked when he was seventeen as easily as I recognize it when I see him now, and in the night the face of the first boy I ever kissed, just before the Third Task, comes to me once more. These are the things I dream about when I dream of the Tournament. I never dream about my sister._

_On the most basic level, a twin is nothing more and nothing less than an exact genetic replica of someone, the result of an embryo that should have been one person splitting into two separate girls, in our case. On the higher levels, though, a twin, especially a twin sister, is so much more – and an infinite amount less. There is no bond such as tales tell of, no sense of loss or incompletion if one grows up without her. I of all people should know. I was seventeen before I knew I was not an only child, never mind an identical twin, and I never once suspected that it might be anything but utter truth. When I found her - or rather, when we found each other - it shook the foundations of my very world. It took us long enough, too, to get past the inter-school rivalry and the personal awkwardness and have some genuine feelings for each other, something I've never stopped regretting. I lost my twin the same year I got her back, and in the losing lost myself, too._

_She was something, Melinda Bobbin was. A princess, almost, and a perfect little English Slytherin heiress anyway. Welcomed in society's best circles, sure to marry well…who wouldn't have wanted to be her? Until that year. Until the Triwizard Tournament. The world swears that Melinda Bobbin died that year, at the beginning of the best years of her life. A tragedy, they called it, but not enough to call off the Tournament. No one died the next time, at Durmstrang, and so now the Tournament is played every five years the way it was meant to be. For all the world knows, Melinda was just another tragic accident, regrettable but probably necessary for the Tournament to evolve into what it now is. I suppose that shows what the world does know – what anyone knows. _

_Lying here in the arms of the man who should have been her husband, the truth of us is clear, at least to me. I am my sister's keeper. Some would say that the things I have done are immoral at best and anathema at worst, but to hell with them. What I have done, I have done so that my sister can have the life she deserves, the life that was taken from her in France so many years ago. I keep her alive. I keep her safe. I keep her with those who love her as they could never have loved me.._

_Or at least this is what I have convinced myself is true._


	2. Girl Talk

Chapter One: Girl Talk

_**September, 2000**_

Minerva McGonagall's eyes were narrowed behind her square spectacles as she read over Melinda's transcript one last time, searching for some small disqualifying fault that she might have missed in some previous reading. Sitting on the edge of one of the Headmistress' square, slightly uncomfortable chairs, Melinda folded her hands, tried not to fidget, and waited. It would be irrational to expect the woman who had been Head of Gryffindor as recently as Melinda's third year to take readily to the idea of having a student who had been a Slytherin under Severus Snape accompany her to France for the better part of a year, but she _had _said that the Tournament was open to all seventeen-year-old students who met the grade and behavioral requirements. Melinda had gone over the papers herself before she submitted her name to Professor Slughorn for consideration.

McGonagall put down the parchment and fixed Melinda with an unreadable stare. "Your parents wrote to indicate their willingness to allow you to compete, Miss Bobbin," she said, all but emotionlessly. Melinda focused harder on not fidgeting. McGonagall had been intimidating when she was merely Melinda's Transfiguration professor; as headmistress, she had changed, just enough to make anyone in his or her right mind avoid crossing her like the plague. "Not that, of course, it is necessary now that you're of age, but the gesture indicates that they believe you will be selected as part of the Hogwarts delegation."

"I'm sorry if they seem presumptuous, Professor," Melinda said, trying to keep her own face and voice as neutral as McGonagall's. "I'm their only child, and they think very highly of me – "

"That," McGonagall said, cutting her off, "is obvious." The professor moved another sheet of parchment to the top of her small pile. "Professor Slughorn also speaks highly of you, as do your records." Something almost like a smile touched McGonagall's mouth, and Melinda realized she was holding her breath in anticipation. "Based on the criteria I set up for the students wishing to compete, there is no reason why you should not be allowed to travel to France and submit your name to the Goblet of Fire."

_She doesn't think there's a chance I'll be selected,_ Melinda translated mentally. _She's out for another Gryffindor, maybe a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw – never a Slytherin. Slytherins, after all, are exceptional people, but not in the way a Triwizard Champion is supposed to be. I'm certainly no Harry Potter. _Aloud, she said, "Thank you, Professor."

"You won't be thanking me long," McGonagall said grimly. "It's a hard game, the Triwizard Tournament. Are you quite sure you've thought this all the way through, Miss Bobbin?"

"Quite, Professor," Melinda said quietly. She'd thought about it, all right, all about Cedric Diggory and all the others who had died over the centuries. This time, though, it was supposed to be safe; the Dark Lord was gone for good, so the difficulties of the last Tournament wouldn't be encountered again, and the safety measures of Dumbledore and Crouch were being retained. Silence stretched for a long moment before Melinda cleared her throat, tired of listening to it. "May I be excused?"

"You may. Professor Slughorn will be given enough details to answer any questions you might have."

"Thank you, Professor." Really, what was there to say? One didn't pal around with the headmistress of Hogwarts School. It would have been unseemly, and McGonagall probably would have thrown her in detention for impertinence. Rising, she bobbed a curtsy, McGonagall made a noise suspiciously like a snort, and Melinda left the woman's office, keeping her dignity until she reached the entrance to the dungeons, where she broke into a run.

"Champion," she gasped at the wall, the recollection of Professor Slughorn's claim that the new password was for luck almost sending her into gales of laughter on the spot. This was the most exciting thing to happen since – since – since she couldn't remember. Malcolm's birth had been cause for some excitement, since Genevieve had been despairing of ever producing a son, but cousins being born was regular enough to make it seem a little anticlimactic compared to this. Hurrying across the common room with barely any real effort to contain herself, she ignored any odd looks she got and burst into the dorm.

Elspeth was already standing right behind it, and Mercedes, though seated on her bed, looked no less interested in hearing what had happened. "Well? What did the old bat say?" Even worked up as she was, Melinda managed to giggle at hearing the Headmistress referred to as an 'old bat' while Mercedes winced at it. Elspeth was both the shame of the McGonagall family, Sorted into Slytherin while her twin brother Eric went into Ravenclaw, and Minerva McGonagall's granddaughter. The only comment Melinda had ever head Ellie make on it was to say that she hoped she found out about her inevitable disownment before Eric did. It had become something akin to a class joke.

"Well…she wasn't happy," Melinda bluffed. "Not happy at all…that there was no reason by her own rules that she could find to keep me here." Elspeth, all dignity forgotten, shrieked and hugged her. Mercedes sighed.

"Just because McGonagall is a Gryffindor doesn't mean that she's utterly prejudiced against us," the tall girl told them, but with the mechanical air of one who had said the same thing many times and almost accepted that it would never be paid any heed.

"The whole _world_ is against us," Elspeth informed her. "We're members of the House of You-Know-Who _and_ the worst traitors of the war. You can't expect all of the Phoenixey people to forgive us this quickly. I don't know if old Dumbledore would have done." No one made any argument about the unfairness of judging them by people who had long since left Slytherin or who had, at the least, not been their yearmates. They were all too practical to consider it. Elspeth shook back her long hair and forced a smile. "Has Valarie made up her mind yet, 'Cedes? I've been so busy thinking about Melinda dueling with Grandmother that I forgot to ask."

"Yes," Mercedes said, looking grateful for the topic change. No one liked to be reminded of why they still weren't trusted. "She's decided that it's unladylike for a girl to take part in this sort of thing and announced she wants nothing more to do with you or Melinda until you come to your senses."

Valarie had always been the snob of their year, Melinda thought bitterly. She'd never liked that girl. "What about you?"

"Mother and Father won't hear of it." Mercedes said, lifting one shoulder in an elegant half-shrug. Melinda envied her her ability to make anything look graceful. Merlin knew she herself had virtually nothing of it. "Nor will my – "Mercedes grimaced – "fiancé. I wasn't part of a litter – "Elspeth glared at her – "or an extended network of cousins. Not in Britain, anyway, and _someone_ has to inherit the British money. "Another little joke among them was that Mercedes had been named by default, since her name was one of the very few used in both Spanish and German. Melinda's great-grandfather's apothecaries were widespread, but Mercedes' family consisted of diplomats and those who thought they were. They were scattered across three continents that Mercedes could remember.

"You're of age now," Elspeth pointed out. "You could do as you liked."

"I could," Mercedes agreed, "If I was feeling suicidal. Father's reaction would be sweet compared to Andrean's, and if I survived the Tournament, it would be him I had to live with for the rest of my life." Melinda almost reached out to pat her friend's shoulder, but stopped short. Mercedes might appreciate the feeling behind the gesture, but not the gesture itself. She had been engaged unusually early, but that was what sometimes happened when the family needed alliances. Merlin knew there had been enough discussions of what to do with Melinda's hand in the family already, though she was still thankfully single. It was just another part of being a pureblood, and there was no point in getting upset about it.

"So," Elspeth said, saving them again. That was her role in the group, and she had become better and better at it as the years went on. "Robes. Which ones are you taking with you for this Yule Ball? I hear the French are very – er – derisive when they think someone's formals are out of style."


	3. Third to Last

Chapter Two: Third to Last

Belinda's face was a tiny, pale diamond above the collar of her cape, giving away nothing as she began arranging her books on their table the way she liked, then began giving his the same treatment. Ivan didn't know what to think of it. If the meeting with the headmaster had gone well, he would have expected her to be out of her head with excitement, but if it had gone poorly, he would have expected her to already be in the throes of a full-fledged temper tantrum. Her Angyal blood had done very little towards lending her restraint when it was not absolutely necessary, and Belinda had never considered him one around whom it was necessary after the incident with Poliakoff's shoes in the fourth month of their first year. She wasn't meeting his eyes, which could hardly count as a good sign.

"Belinda?" One corner of her mouth jerked up in the usual half-amused, half-exasperated way it always did when he pronounced her name the proper way instead of the apparently American Bel – lyn – da she herself used. She answered, not in the rapid English he still sometimes had difficulty following, but in slow, lightly accented Hungarian.

"What is it?"

"You were to meet with Professor Magyar this morning," he began cautiously, familiar with his friend's temper, but Belinda's laugh kept him from saying more.

"Is that all you are afraid of asking me, Ivan?" He grimaced to hear his name pronounced Eye – van, but turnabout was fair play. Her face suddenly hardened, green eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You think I am unworthy for him to think well of my going?"

"No!" He knew Belinda, possibly better than anyone else at Durmstrang, and he knew that the Wrath of Angyal would fall on his head if he gave her any reason to think he thought the less of her for being a girl. "The headmaster, though, may not be so open-minded as I."

"He isn't," Belinda informed him, switching to English because she knew it annoyed him when she did that without warning him first. "But I'm a good asset, and he knows it. Proof of how open-minded Durmstrang is now that You-Know-Who is gone, bringing the part-American female with the Durmstrang delegation." She almost smiled. "That and he would like it very much if the Angyal family continued to donate money to this school even four generations out of Hungary."

"Then – "

"No escaping to France without me, Gorganov," she said, a true smile now spreading across her face whether she willed it or not. "May the best woman win."

Ivan caught himself laughing more freely than she did even as he congratulated her. If she could do nothing else, Belinda could always make him laugh.

**_SSSSSSSSSSSSSS_**

Of course Magyar had to give a speech. Belinda had been the third-to-last to be chosen to accompany the Headmaster to Beauxbatons, the others had been picked quickly once the professors resigned themselves to her, and the still-awkward professor who had replaced Ivan's first headmaster was one who could, as Belinda liked to say, make speeches about meatloaf – whatever that was. An assembly was called after supper, boys and girls put on opposite sides of the Meeting Hall to uphold the appearance of respectability, and the professor droned while the other teachers, standing in a long, curved line behind him, stared fixedly at nothing and the students forced themselves to stay awake.

"As you all know, the Triwizard Tournament is one of the, ah, older traditions of the schools. It is a great honor, and great responsibility, to be chosen to, ah, compete, and now, with the new, ah, system of rules, it is even an honor to be allowed to submit one's name…"

Ivan stopped listening. Nothing interesting was going to be said.

"If the champion candidates would, ah, step up now…"

Curses. With a little maneuvering, he managed to end up between Igor Voronov and Belinda. Belinda stared out at the crowd that almost to a man didn't want her there without so much as a sideways glance at him, but he hadn't expected her to give him one. If they made eye contact right now, they might well end up laughing aloud in front of the entire school, which would be humiliating enough even before they were punished.

The reaction to the three girls being sent with the party was mixed, but Ivan didn't miss the faint smirk Belinda wore as her name was announced. She was enjoying this; since it was her, Ivan didn't think it would be much of a stretch to imagine her liking the disapproval. Of all the girls he would have though Magyar would select, Belinda would have been among the last, brilliant or not. If the Goblet of Fire were to select her as a Champion, Durmstrang's reputation would never be the same again.


	4. Walking and Talking

Chapter Four: Walking and Talking

"It'll be you," Melinda said, her voice full of a confidence Eric couldn't quite comprehend. "If Hufflepuff had one last time, then it'll be you this time. Ellie and I are just coming along for moral support." They were just far enough away from the main school that neither of them were worried about eavesdroppers or propriety, at least for the moment, and that was exactly the way they both liked it. These evening walks, sometimes with his sister and sometimes without, had been a routine since third year.

Looking down at her and trying hard to keep away from thoughts of how soft her hair looked, Eric McGonagall mustered a grin. "Not in this lifetime," he assured her. "Personally, I'm voting for – " Melinda began to smirk as she tried to hold back a smile, clearly thinking she knew whose name he was going to say, and he decided to take her down a peg. "Elspeth," he finished smoothly, as if his sister's name was the one he had meant to say all along. "She's the eldest grandchild of the Hogwarts Head, she's brilliant, she's got everything we don't…"

"Such as?" She didn't look amused now – Eric suspected it was genuine – but she'd laugh when he sprang the joke.

"A sense of humor, for starters," he said, keeping his tone as normal as possible to throw her even further. "And morals. And dignity. And – "

"Oh, shut up," she said, a quick smile to show that she wasn't really annoyed flashing across her face. Eric cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to ignore his reaction to the smile. Melinda didn't give any indication that she'd noticed the reaction or the throat-clearing, but she could make herself hard to read, when she wanted to. "It probably won't be any of us, in all seriousness, though," she continued, sounding resigned to the idea. "Someone would try to say McGonagall tricked the Goblet if it was one of you, and I doubt I've any spectacular character traits to my name."

"You don't need any," Eric said dryly. "You flutter your eyelashes, and people give you whatever you want."

"I," Melinda said primly, "am going to pretend that you just gave me a compliment."

_Please Merlin she doesn't realize I really did…_ "Keep telling yourself that," he suggested, and was rewarded with a rare laugh. He liked to listen to Melinda laughing. She didn't do it often, and rarely in front of anyone but him or Ellie or that other Slytherin girl, but when she did…chimes, maybe. Something musical. Even if she hadn't been Melinda, it would have been a pleasant laugh to listen to.

Of course, if she hadn't been Melinda, best friend of his best friend, he would have regarded her as another Slytherin snot and avoided her like she carried the plague. Grandmother's horror at the discovery aside, Elspeth's Sorting was one of the better things ever to happen to either of them. Not that he could ever aspire to Melinda's level, to being anything other than her roommate's brother and her yearmate and maybe even her friend, but he had this. Whatever this was.

"D'you think they'll carry on with some kind of classes while we're in France?" They were back on the Tournament. Eric suppressed a flash of irritation. It was all anyone thought about, really, even in Ravenclaw. He couldn't see the reason for the obsession, but then, the only reason he was tagging along was because of Ellie and Melinda and the thought of his grandmother's reaction if the heir of the McGonagall family and only of-age grandson she had stayed at Hogwarts while his yearmates went to France. Especially Ellie, the family Slytherin and so the family member most in need of watching.

Sometimes, being a twin seemed like more of a curse than a blessing.

"No doubt," he said, a good deal more cheerfully than he suspected most of the would-be Champions would have done. "Grandmother wasn't happy this summer whenever people mentioned the Tournament. Thought it was too dangerous and too detrimental to our educations. You know," he arranged his face into thin, straight lines in the best imitation of his father's mother he could pull off and tried to mimic her voice. "'Parents send their children to my school to _learn_, for Merlin's sake, not to get killed at sport! A Quidditch match is all well and good, but shipping them to France for a year…'"

"Sounds like McGonagall," Melinda commented dryly. "So what, then? Is she going to teach us herself in the Hogwarts Express?"

"Dunno. She never said, but I can't see her letting us off easy. I doubt it'll be the train we take, though. I heard Durmstrang used a ship to get here, last time…maybe we'll take a few of those boats Hagrid uses to get the first years across the lake the first time…"

"_No!_" Melinda said, looking intrigued by the idea. "We'd drown!"

"There are ways around that, you know," he said, trying to remember what that article he'd read had had to say on the matter. "The Bubble-Head Charm wouldn't last us that long, but there are – "

"Other things that don't matter," Melinda interrupted smoothly, clearly disinterested in hearing about various techniques of underwater survival. "Though I'm sure there's a charm to get around every inconvenience of living in those dratted boats, and I'm sure that you've read about it, it seems like too much trouble to go to. I'm sure McGonagall will find another way to get us from point A to point B."

"Probably," he agreed, still reluctant to give up his spiel about charms and transfiguration. He decided to change the topic away from the blasted tournament. "How do you think you did on last week's Potions test? I was all right on the first few steps, but I think I might have added a touch too much asphodel, to tell you the truth, and then there was – " he broke off as Melinda started laughing again. "What?"

"Eric, darling, I adore you," she said, and his stomach lurched uncomfortably. "You're too smart for your own good."

"Hasn't done me any harm yet," he shot back, then gave their rapidly lengthening shadows a dark look. "It's almost sunset," he pointed out, resigned. "We'd better head back to the castle. I wouldn't want people saying I'd compromised your reputation."

Melinda gave him an odd little smile. "No, we wouldn't," she agreed. "Because if I survived my great-grandfather's reaction, you'd have to marry me."

"Maybe compromising your reputation isn't such a bad idea after all," he "joked".

"Oh, shut up."


End file.
